


there's no solid ground (beneath my feet)

by ssummer_9



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssummer_9/pseuds/ssummer_9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Santana finds that it leaves the fluttering of a thousand butterflies in its wake. Her skin burns and the need to meld their lips together increases tenfold, but Santana knows she can't." multi-chaptered fic. Follows Santana through her senior year at McKinley; touches on coming out, growing up and rebuilding friendships. Brittana, but eventual Quinntana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**_"A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead._** —Graham Greene, _The End of the Affair (1951)_ "

**CHAPTER I**

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.

/

The day Santana returns to William McKinley High is the first of many lasts and the last of many firsts.  
As she steps out of her car into the warm-but-not-hot Summer air, she adjusts the Cheerios uniform she adorns, smoothing out the creases it has somehow managed to acquire in the short span of time since she has put it on. Her eyes survey the car park and the area surrounding the entrance of the school. There's a sort of nervous, jumpy energy that the atmosphere is teeming with and Santana thinks it's kind of contagious.

Students are milling around, she notes; a group of juniors chat animatedly amongst themselves; sophomore girls gaze longingly at the retreating backs of the football team. Santana's nose wrinkles at the lovestruck looks on their faces. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes before turning her attention elsewhere.  
She finds Kurt in amongst the crowd. He's the first familiar face she's seen today, granted that he  _is_  kind of hard to miss—dressed in god-knows-what. It doesn't matter though, Santana acknowledges that he has good taste and although she wouldn't wear something like  _that_ , if he can pull it off then kudos to the boy.  
Santana watches as Kurt pushes through the crowd and almost leaps into the arms of a guy with jet black hair slickly gelled back...The name  _Blaine_  floats to the forefront of her mind. Santana vaguely recalls his entirely too vibrant, bright and all-things-happy presence in Glee Club last year. ( _Didn't he transfer, then stay_ _ed_   _for like a month before vanishing?)_  
  
She's still standing by her car, so caught up in watching Kurt lead Blaine away into the crowd that she doesn't notice the girl that has approached her, albeit, a little tentatively.

"Santana?"

Santana starts a little at the unexpected greeting. Turning around she is met with the short stature and gleamingly hopeful eyes of the one and only, annoying and overbearing Rachel Berry.

"What is it Hobbit?" She snaps, realising far too late that she may have sounded a bit  _too_  harsh. It  _is_  the first day. She has a whole year to torture Rachel.

Despite the caustic way she delivers her reply, Berry does not seemed too fazed.

"I have a preposition for you."

Rachel raises a hand when she sees that Santana is about to interrupt. Santana's eye roll notwithstanding, Rachel continues on.  
"With it being our Senior year, I think it would be best if we were to place aside our previous hostilities and strive to achieve mutual understanding and respect for each other. I believe it would be mutually beneficial."  
Rachel pauses slightly. "I know that this may be hard for you but I would really appreciate it and..."

Santana turns around and shuts the door of her car, pressing a button on her car keys; the succeeding two beeps indicating that the doors have been locked.

"Whatever Berry. I get what you're saying. I'll think about it, but now I got to go."  
Without a further glance backward, Santana leaves the other girl behind her and strides towards the blue Volkswagen that had just arrived in the car park.

She's halfway there when the thought hits her hard and she freezes.

This is it.

This is her (and Britt's) Senior year, her final year to bask in the warmth of her high school glory; and if the previous years are any indication of how this year will pan out, then this year's going to be fucking  _crazy_.

"Tana!"  
It's the only warning she gets before she is engulfed by the arms of the tall blonde, with Brittany's chin resting on her shoulder and their cheeks pressed, flushed, together. The unexpected impact makes her stagger and they both almost go tumbling but Santana finds her footing in the last possible second.

Their arms are still locked around each other when Brittany pulls back so that they can look into each others' eyes.

"Sorry. I was too excited to see you." The blonde giggles. Santana finds herself grinning back at Brittany, a warm feeling settling at the bottom of her stomach.

"It's okay, Britts. I was excited to see you too."

"I can't believe this Santana! We're finally Seniors!" Brittany grins.

"Yep. We sure are."

They break apart and Santana holds up her pinkie for Brittany to take with her own. Their entwined pinkies swing between them as they walk towards the school.

"Do you want to-"  
"Have you seen-"

They both speak at the same time and realising the other is talking, abruptly cut themselves off simultaneously. Santana stares silently at Brittany and Brittany does the same. It's almost comical, Santana thinks.  
Santana gently nudges Brittany. The tall blonde doesn't need anymore prompting. With years of friendship under their belts, Santana finds it comforting that they can communicate like this—silently.

"Have you seen Quinn anywhere?"

The question catches Santana off guard because firstly, Quinn hasn't even crossed her mind once today and Santana kind of feels guilty for it; and secondly, Quinn is Quinn and Santana is Santana. Santana and Quinn haven't been, well,  _San and Q_  for a long time...Their friendship is practically on the rocks.

Let's just say, they aren't talking at the moment. ( _At least there are no more slap-fests or hallway fights)._

To come to think of it, the only interaction she had with Quinn over the past month was asking Quinn about something so trivial that Santana had forgotten what the thing was in the first place. And Quinn being Quinn hadn't replied and left her to face the mocking timestamp  _(18:36)_  and the word " _seen_ ".

If that isn't indicative of Quinn's clear "fuck you" stance, then Santana doesn't know what is.  
"Umm, no, I haven't seen Quinn today." Santana pauses, trying to recall what it is that she was going to ask Brittany beforehand. "I'm sure she'll turn up to Cheerios practice... Oh, that's what I was going to ask. You want to watch the Sue Sylvester recruiting process, Britts?"

Brittany laughs, eyes twinkling like drops of dew catching the morning light. A hint of mischief shines through. "They won't know what hit them. Do you remember how horrible that was Tana? I think I lost my soul that day. Now I can't sing soul music...like 'Say A Little Prayer' anymore..." The blonde pouts sadly.

"I think I did too."

"What?"

"Lost my soul."

"But you didn't have one."

"Brittany!"

"You're Satan-ana." With that Brittany starts laughing so hard that her eyes water and she doubles over gasping for breath. Santana's frown slowly melts away, replaced by a smile. She rolls her eyes in an attempt to offset the grin that is spreading across her face. Brittany stops laughing suddenly and crosses her legs awkwardly. "I need to pee." She says in a serious and urgent tone. Santana shakes her head at he best friend's actions, her heart beating a little faster.

Santana finds it in herself to smile a little. She spent an entire summer in the company of her distant and detached parents, who only talked to her when it was absolutely necessary. The memories of her Summer brings a hard lump to her throat. Struggling with herself, Santana tries to push away the feeling of emptiness, of heaviness that settles over her like a cloud of dust. Though she won't admit it, Santana felt lonely.

Santana thought she'd never say this but she's glad that school has started up again. It offers her escape. Escape from the empty shell of a house that her parents call "home". For some reason, the word doesn't settle right, and her stomach churns and twists uncomfortably.

But then she thinks of Brittany's bright disposition; the way warmth seems to follow her wherever she goes. Santana thinks about the way Brittany breathes into her neck when they cuddle on the couch; thinks of the many kisses they've shared in the janitor's closet.

She'll be brave enough one day, Santana decides. She thinks about being able to steal a kiss out in the open.

And it's enough. It eases the pangs of loneliness stabbing at her heart, coaxing them into submission.

"Hurry B, or we'll be late to class. We still need to go to our lockers."

/

Glee is the last period of Santana's day and she finds herself exhausted as she trudges into the choir room. She's early for once and it's clearly a surprise to both herself and  _Quinn Fabray_ \- the only other person currently in the room.

"Quinn..." She breathes out. Santana's not sure whether she's shocked at seeing Quinn in the choir room or just at the sight of the girl who had 'disappeared' over the summer break.

Surprise is evident on the other girl's face as well. Santana finds this herself, in a momentary lapse, perhaps in a split second, when Quinn's guard is down. It's etched on the blonde's face in such a suiting way, her eyebrows rise slightly, almost imperceptibly, her pink lips part, and her long lashes flicker as she blinks in surprise. It's all there, just for brief moment, frozen in time, but enough for Santana to catch. It passes and Quinn's face regains her graceful composure, her lips form a thin line, her eyes now hard-edged and cold, losing the curious yet bemused sparkle that they held only moments ago.

The corner of Quinn's lip twitches and it looks like she's going to say something but Santana hears only the silence that follows.  
 _  
Friends my ass._  Santana thinks bitterly.

When Santana focuses her attention back onto the blonde again, she finds Quinn has returned to the book on her lap, with her eyes skipping across the page as she reads. It's as if Santana had never entered the room and they had never exchanged looks. Santana frowns.

Six years. This is what six years of friendship meant to Quinn Fabray. A surprised expression is what six years of friendship is worth in Fabray's books.  _Fucking pathetic_. Not even a nod of the head, not even a greeting. Santana feels a visceral anger and resentment boiling within her, it rises up and leaves an acidic burn in its wake and Santana clenches her jaw in an attempt to quell its advance. She fights the urge to storm out of the choir room or even to slap her former friend, just to gain even a fraction of the blonde's attention...but she doesn't do either of those. Instead Santana forces herself to settle for moving across the room to seat herself as far away from Quinn as is physically possible; her jaw still clenched and eyes now stinging. The degree of psychological reaction Santana feels from Quinn's coolness irks herself.

Santana huffs.

They aren't even friends and Santana knows well enough that this is typical Quinn behaviour. Avoidance. Freezing people out etcetera etcetera. Yet she was still caught off guard. Something in the depths of her heart may have foolishly believed that this could have panned out differently.

Maybe Santana can't help but think, because it is a new year, because they are supposed to have a new start, that maybe, just maybe it will be different.  
 _  
Well fuck that. And fuck you too Fabray._

Oh great and now she's really angry.

The bell rings alarmingly loud and it cuts through the silence of the room like a sharp blade. Santana glances over at Quinn before looking at the clock.

After another five minutes, the other Glee club members begin slowly filing into the room, they bring with them a wave of energy, filled with excitement and hope for the new year, one that had existed within herself a few minutes ago only to be crushed by the other girl in the room. The onslaught of positive energy the glee members bring completely clashes with Santana's quietly brewing annoyance. Brittany, being her perceptive self picks up on this immediately and skips all chatter with her fellow glee club members and instead bounds over to Santana.

"Hi Tana...are you okay?"  
Santana just nods slightly.

Santana can see that Brittany's not convinced and her blue eyed friend sits down next to her without a second word, and gently links their pinkies together. "Ok then."

Santana tightens her pinkies around Brittany's wishing that she could kiss her instead. Brittany seems to read her thoughts and turns to her, her blue eyes so clear—the colour of a cloudless sky, and winks at her before leaning closer and whispering  _soon_  into her ear. The word has its intended effect and Santana feels shivers dancing down her spine. Santana smirks as Brittany places a chaste kiss on her cheek and rests her head against the Latina's shoulder. Santana relaxes. Brittany's presence once again subdues her anger and Santana finds that it leaves the fluttering of a thousand butterflies in its wake. Her skin burns and the need to meld their lips together increases tenfold, but Santana knows she can't.

Not with so many people here.

Santana feels eyes on her but she dismisses them, they are probably Puck's anyways.

Everyone quietens down, now that they have exchanged stories about their own holidays. Santana's eyes meet Brittany's again and she tries to convey the magnitude of love she is feeling to the taller blonde. In response to this, Brittany inconspicuously slides her hand into Santana's own, and hides their now joined hands from sight with her body; giving the Latina's hand a gentle squeeze in the process.

Santana watches as everyone takes their seats, she feels Puck's presence behind her, sees Rachel and Finn take up their spots in the middle of the front row and notes that Quinn has put away her book and was talking to Mercedes.  _When had Quinn and Mercedes had became friends?_  Santana's heart stings slightly when she realises that she doesn't know  _anything_  about her supposed 'best friend' of six years anymore.

The door of the choir room swings open and a tall blonde woman clad in a red tracksuit strides in.  
"Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once." Everyone in the room freezes in shock at the sound of the voice that is unmistakably Coach Sylvester's.

"Listen you group of misfits and losers, with exception of the few Cheerios in here, this sad excuse of an extracurricular club will now be run by me."

Santana watches as all hell breaks lose and just sits there with her mouth open unable to comprehend the full implications of this latest development. However, there were others that had the ability to voice their objections and confusion—Rachel Berry.

"Excuse me Coach, but I think there has been a misunderstanding that has happened here. I believe that Mr Schuester is still in charge of Glee Club and I feel it would be inappropriate for you to take over."

"Well, Bossy Midget, there has not. I am here to take over his pathetic singing group."

"Why would you! You just want to destroy Glee club!" Artie shouts. There is a chorus of murmured agreement.

"Yes Wheels, while it is true that I hate this New Directions, I hate losing more than I hate William Schuester and this glee. I cannot stand by and watch this club ruin the reputation of McKinley anymore. Nor can I have the Cheerios associated with such a disgusting reputation."

"Where's Mr Schue?"

"He got fired." Sue replies dismissively.

Sue turns around and writes on the board in large letters.  
 **  
GLEE CLUB.**

"Now that we have that settled. You will all follow my rules if you want to win anything at all, got it?"  
Everyone stays silent.

 **RULES:**  
-no more solos due to blatant favouritism. All solos must be earned.  
-assignments must be completed on time and by everyone  
-assignment pair for duets will be drawn out of a hat  
-no put downs  
-no slacking allowed  
-lateness will not be tolerated  
-any other rules will be added as I see fit

"This week's assignment is to come up with a new name for glee club. New Directions is a disgusting name and it sounds like something only rats would eat."

Santana watches the grim expressions that have now settled on the others' faces. So much for hope and optimism right?

"Since this is the first day, and you must be pathetically tired, you are now dismissed. Don't expect this again. Now get out of my sight, I have things to attend to." Sue turns around and walks out.

Santana finds herself groaning internally. How was she going to survive a glee club run by Sue Sylvester. She knew what it was like to be on a  _team_  run by Sylvester...

When Santana unintentionally bumps into Quinn on her way out of the choir room, their eyes meet and Santana thinks she catches a flash of something in them; and for the first time in maybe weeks, months, or years, Santana doesn't see any of the usual animosity that is present; instead there is something else and despite what happened earlier in the choir room, for some unfathomable reason, Santana thinks that things are finally changing.  
/


	2. Chapter II

**"** **The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there."** — L. P. Hartley,  
 _The Go-Between_

**CHAPTER II**

It's dusk. The sun has just set, leaving behind ghostly remnants of itself now faded into the short streaks of purple-red and the dark misty blue canvas of the darkening skyline. Santana is on her way to the familiar place Brittany calls home and it's a typical Friday night routine, with her car gliding through the streets she knows so well, like hazy morning-afters; just as familiar and just as blurry.

When Santana finds Quinn walking on one of the sidewalks, it throws her. The soft colours of Quinn's sundress and cardigan attire glow eerily bright in the darkening light and Santana hesitates for a second, unsure as to if her eyes have fooled her; and perhaps the other girl is not actually who she thinks she is. After a split second of deliberation, there is no doubting that it is in fact Quinn. Before she even registers her own actions, Santana slams on the brakes and slows to a stop.

Quinn's entire body tenses. The passing vehicle had been one moment all bright headlights and the next, abruptly pulled up beside her amidst a skid of tyres. The flashing yellow of the indicator light dances—or rather, casts faint flickers of shadows—across her face. Santana watches as the blonde reaches into her bag, furiously searching for something.

"Quinn!?" Santana says evenly despite her urge to raise it in the strangeness of this situation, and rolls down her window, leaning towards the passenger door, seatbelt straining; cutting into her shoulder slightly. Since when does Fabray  _ever_ wander the streets alone? And why the hell would Quinn be even in this area?

How much more does she not know about her friend? How much has  _changed_?

The blonde's body relaxes slightly and her posture changes. Quinn crosses her arms upon recognising both Santana's voice and the sleek black Mercedes parked against the curb. Santana watches the rearrangement of Quinn's features, a thin line appearing between two furrowed brows, and the pieces of the blonde's mask slide and click into place.

"Santana." Quinn spits out the name, and it sounds acidic, sharp edged; like the word itself would burn her tongue, toxic, laced with her own personal brand of poison.

Santana tries not to flinch, and just sighs. "Quinn, get in."

When Quinn doesn't move, rooted on the spot with eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. Santana tries again. She doesn't know  _why_ she is even bothering to, but she does it anyway. ( _A voice in her head tells her its because she still cares about Quinn but she promptly shuts it up with a clench of her jaw_ ).

"Just get in and I'll give you a lift. God, just tell me where you're heading Blondie."

It's not until Santana leans over and opens the passenger door that Quinn begins to move towards the car, and her face displays a minute amount—perhaps a glimpse—of the of the vulnerability that she guards so fiercely behind her facade.

"73 Parkville Crescent."

Santana just nods, shifts into the correct gear and gently presses on the accelerator pedal, guiding the car to a comfortable speed. Trees and houses flash by, once again a blur. She can feel Quinn's relief; relief for not pushing for more information and at this, her mind races. Thoughts formulate too quickly flashing through her mind, leaving her with remnants of lingering questions—When did it become like this?

But it is silence that she both hears, and preserves; the only thing between them filling the gaping void left behind in the wake of their broken friendship; the only thing capable of occupying the literal and metaphorical distance between them.

Yet still the drive is quiet—too quiet, and out of the corner of her eye, Santana glances at Quinn every now and then. The blonde, in turn, just stares out the window, her face so expressionless and blank that it's disconcerting. Santana realises that she wants so badly for  _something_ to break this unsettling, yet not entirely unfamiliar silence but finds that she cannot do so herself.

Quinn jumps at the sudden sound, when Santana's phone rings. She recovers, recognising the ringtone, before turning her head to rest her hazel eyes on the buzzing device between them. It's the bright ringtone—so out of place in the bleak atmosphere of the car—that lets Santana know it is Brittany and with a murmur, a semblance of a half apology to Quinn, she pulls over and answers the phone.

Brittany's voice is radiant, like always, and her brightness permeates through the phone, into the air. It fills the small enclosed space of the car and Santana feels claustrophobic. She realises it's all but impossible for Quinn to  _not_ hear the conversation she's about to have with Brittany and this thought puts her on edge.

"Santana? Where are youuu?" Brittany half whines, Santana can hear Britt's pouting it through her intonations.

"I'm on my way, I'm giving someone a lift, I'm with Q-"  
Quinn's head whips around so fast that Santana wonders if she might get whiplash. There is a look of pure panic lodged onto the others face and if it weren't for the sombreness that has settled over them, she thinks she would have laughed. Santana doesn't quite understand; it's almost as if there's an underlying message that Quinn is trying so desperately to convey and it's just out of reach—an inch or two from the grasps of her comprehension. Despite this, she swallows Quinn's name, bitter pills sliding down her throat, and Santana ends up vaguely telling Brittany that she is with someone.

"Who is it?" Brittany inquires after a heartbeat.

"A friend. No one you wouldn't know...Look B, I'll be over in about ten minutes, sorry to keep you waiting but we'll start our movie marathon as soon as I get there, okay?"

"Okay, see you!" Brittany just replies but Santana knows that her curiosity is not sated, nor is the half formed name that had slipped out, forgotten.

Santana hangs up the phone and a wave of relief washes over her. Brittany didn't accidentally say anything that would blow their— _her_ —cover.

When Santana pulls up in the driveway of 73 Parkville Crescent, she finds herself staring at a small but clearly outdated house. The paint is peeling at places, and weeds seem to thrive, making themselves comfortable, sprouting out here and there; ancient cobwebs hang under the eaves like a cluster of bats and there's a mustiness seems to emanate from the old house. This was a stark contrast to Quinn's house on the other side of town; a pristine white mansion with large black metals gates, standing regal and poised, a vision of perfection, just like the inhabitants of the place. Behind the gates, lay a huge bluestone paved driveway, decorated with sleek Maseratis and Mercedes Benzes.

As Quinn goes to open the car door, Santana suddenly finds herself unable to hold back the words that come tumbling out; rolling off her tongue on their own accord, slicing through the air before she can stop them.  
"What was that Fabray? You knew it was Brittany, why didn't you want her to know?! Heck I don't even know  _what_ it is that you don't want anyone to know."

"Nothing that concerns you or Brittany. And you  _know_ it is the  _exact_ same way that you don't want me or anyone to know about you!" Quinn quips back.

"What the hell are you talking about Fabray?" Santana snarls. Quinn clenches her jaw in anger, attempting to quell her internal fury, the only visible sign of a chink in her cool demeanor, and Santana suddenly thinks that they must look like a reflection of one another—teeth metaphorically bared, claws extended, ready to lash out; trapped animals, neither willing to back off.

"You know exactly what I am talking about!"  _She does_. "I can see it on your face, Santana."  _Maybe they had lost everything else with their friendship but they could still read each other._

"Are you dumb now blondie? Are you making things up? Because I have no fucking clue about what you are talking about or even alluding to."

"Whatever Santana, you can keep denying it but it's no use,  _we all know_."

_"We all know..."_  Fear grips her heart and the words send the bottom of her stomach plunging, palms sweating and heart beating erratically; faster than rocks that tumble, accelerating towards the depths of a deep canyon.  
They can't—Quinn's bluffing...right?

_"They...know? You...know?"_ Part of her wants to shout these words, because then at least she would be rid of the crushing weight that she is so sure everyone can see resting upon her shoulders; crushing her. Maybe she can finally breathe again.

Even if it means that'll they turn on her, and she'll wake up to find that she's truly alone.

But the other half of her is too much of a coward.

"There's nothing to know!"

"Exactly!" Quinn hisses angrily.

Santana sighs, she isn't here to argue about her problems. When she speaks again, her voice is much softer, and a shade fainter; slightly faded.  
"What  _are_ you doing here Fabray?"

"That's none of your business Santana." Quinn coldly snaps, her eyes glint in the dim light of the street lamps, rebuffing Santana's attempts to extend an olive branch.

"Actually it is. We're meant to be friends, I have a right to know!"

"No Santana, you're mistaken. Despite what  _you_ think, last time I checked, we are  _not_ friends.  _You have no right._ "

Santana lets Quinn's dig at their friendship slide because she's not about to lower herself to Quinn's level.  _Not anymore._

"Are  _you_ really doing this  _again_?" Santana almost laughs mockingly and Quinn freezes, her hand still against the door handle now.

"Because the last time you did  _this_...dammit Quinn, I still don't know  _why_! And fuck you! Fuck you if you think you can just walk away again Fabray."

There's an instant where it's just quiet and Santana is aware of both the sounds of her own ragged breathing as well as the faint sounds of Quinn's strangled breaths beside her. The moment passes when Quinn finally opens the door. A gust of cool night air rushes in and settles around Santana's shoulders, hovering, waiting to embrace her like an old friend; to send chills down her spine with its icy touch.

"Goodbye Santana."

The farewell prompts the coldness to swallow her. Quinn's face once again a mask, devoid of any emotion.

But the words aren't all the Santana hears. She thinks that hidden amongst all that bitterness and anger she hears a faint hint of an apology—the ghost of the friendship they could've had—and a trace of fear—the silhouette of the relationship they currently have.

But that's all she gets and before the car door slams.

Santana watches as Quinn presses the doorbell and waits long enough until the blonde is inside the house before pulling out of the driveway and leaving again.

/

Sue Sylvester is surprisingly adept at running a glee club and this becomes evident over the next few weeks of school. They had already begun to prepare for Sectionals, despite the fact that Santana only vaguely recalls that the actual date of the competition was some time in the hazy near future.

In between completing (or more like competing in) her weekly assignments, and keeping up with Sylvester's crazy routine, Santana and the rest of the glee club members find that there is hardly any time for the petty fights and drama that had occurred so often in the choir room back when Mr Schue was here. They all seem to be focused now, determination set into their faces, a common goal in sight and Santana thinks she just might be on a winning team this year.

Sue's glee club is different. She has them sing warm ups, vocal exercises and engage in fitness routines that even Rachel Berry couldn't dream to produce from her seemingly endless repertoire of vocal exercises; and for two hours straight, three times a week, Sue pushes them to their limits, with a condescendingly disappointed expression colouring her face.

"It seems you mouth breathers are in worse shape than I thought. If you were my Cheerios, half of you would have been kicked off and publicly humiliated for even daring to show up in such a state. But you aren't, and thank god for that. However, I will make it my personal aim to send you lot crying home if your performances are pathetic."

Sue stops their current activities before grouping them together according to strength and moving onto the technical side of things, training them separately and stopping them whenever she was dissatisfied—which was almost always as soon as they opened their mouths.

The rules of glee club remained written on the board, now retraced in permanent marker and Santana watches as Rachel eyes the first point somewhat discontentedly, knowing that she may not get as many solos now.

"Alright, Starpower Superiors."

Rachel always gets this self satisfied and pleased look when she hears the word "star" in the new name of their singing group and Santana can't help but roll her eyes.  _How typical._ She really doesn't know how or why Sue chose this dumb name but she kind of doesn't care. New Directions was pretty bad already...

Sue pulls out her glasses and places them onto the bridge of her nose, glancing at the glee club members, eyes resting intimidating on each of them before adjusting the glasses until they rest on the tip of her nose. Looking up, she speaks in her usual condescendingly matter-of-fact-tone.

"For this week's assignment you will be ranked and the winners will have a chance to sing a solo at Sectionals. " Sue pauses slightly, letting the reward, the prize register in everyone's mind before continuing on.

"I have ten songs at hand, in pairs of two you will be assigned at random to ONE of these songs. The theme this week is trust. Ever since I have been observing your little group of misfits, I have seen too little trust. I cannot run a team who do not trust each other. That is why you must SHOW me that you both understand and can develop this trust-regardless of your randomly assigned partner. "

Santana's eyes find Puck's by accident and they exchange glances. This didn't sound like it will go down well. There was a lot of bad blood between certain members of their singing group and if they were paired up...

"Sandbags, Cannon Fodder, Asian, other Asian, Young Burt Reynolds and Wheels, line up now, and come to draw your songs. All of you, will be in different pairs, now move! The rest of you, come and draw out your partner!"

Santana pushes herself up and drags her body towards the side of the piano. Brittany's pinkie catches hers on their way there and she let's it anchor her to the present and the task at hand.

There's the initially grappling of who gets to draw first, then, on the other side of the room, she hears her name uttered amidst a sharp intake of breath, the unmistakeable sound of a gasp, and she feels unsteady.

It's Kurt.

In Kurt's hands, the small piece of paper rests atop his palms, face up for the world to see her name printed clearly on it.

Out of all the people in the glee club, Santana had to have gotten _Kurt_. Someone who she thinks that under other circumstances, may have been friends with. Kurt, the one who is currently dating the Warbler, yet has a supportive family. Kurt, the one who she half-hates for being brave enough, to be out and open; and to Santana, this fact makes his presence feel like a constant confrontation.

And now she had to  _trust him_ and  _show it_?!  
It was just a stupid solo up for grabs anyways. She didn't need to give a shit.

Rachel is the next person in line and she eagerly starts forward, one step closer to the hat, and one step closer towards her partner for this project, eyes gleaming, never one to miss out of a chance to hog the spotlight. Fate seems to like her and she draws out Finn Hudson.

Santana sighs, some things never ever change.

She tunes out during the rest of the announcements of the pairs, that is, until she hears Brittany's name and Quinn's name uttered in the same breath.

_Quinn and Brittany._

_Quinn and Brittany._

_Quinn and Brittany._

The names resonate around the room. Britt and Quinn. The idea of the two blondes spending time together is strange. Even when they were the Unholy Trinity, Britt and Quinn never really had the chance nor initiative to develop a friendship, but rather preferred to remained associated only by their common link of Santana.

_Better late than never?_

Santana carefully unfolds the sheet of paper in her hand; the contents would determine the song for this week's dreaded assignment and she finds herself a little uneasy.

_Trust me. The Fray._

Santana thinks she's heard the song once on a drive back from Britt's house; but that was so long ago.

"Quinn! We have a good song, I think!"

Quinn turns around, a small smile on her lips upon spotting Brittany dancing over to her. Santana thinks she sees a bright streak of light in the blonde's eyes, but Quinn lifts her glance and it jars when it catches Santana's own eyes and just like that it's gone, replaced by her trademark scowl.

"Quinn we got Secrets by One Republic." Brittany's voice floats across to Santana's ears.

"Ummm...Santana?"  
Santana spins around quickly and comes face to face with a flustered and extremely surprised Kurt Hummel. His perfectly plucked eyebrows have shot up so high she finds it comical. Her face cracks into a smile.

"What is it Lady Hummel?"

He quickly attempts to regain his composure but the flushed colour of his cheeks do not fade.

"What is our song? Do you want to work on the assignment tomorrow?"

"Trust me, The Fray. I was thinking day after."

"Fine by me, you can come over straight after school and we can get to know each other better..."

Santana scowls.

"No."

He squeaks slightly, and Santana's not sure why he seems to be so afraid of her. She likes to think that it's because she is a badass and he is afraid of the image, of the front Santana projects to the rest of the world.

_("Coward", her mind voices)_

"Relax Hummel, I meant, no, I can't make it straight after school. I have cheer practice. I'll drop by around 4:30pm. Here's my number, just text me your address later."

"Alright, thanks Santana."

Santana pulls out her phone and sets another reminder for herself.

_Kurt's house. 4:30_

_/_

As always, her house is quiet when she returns home and she slips into her bedroom unnoticed by either one of her parents.

The light at the end of the hall spilling through the crack in the door lets Santana know that her father's home already. She can picture him working at his desk—it is what he does now on most nights—surrounded by shelves and shelves of books, mainly medical reference books, but not all. She recalls from her distant childhood, the hidden treasures buried amongst the others, rare limited edition copies, fairy tales, story books that awaken slumbering memories of her six year old self and the deep soothing voice of her father; waves washing upon a sandy shore, rocking her gently to sleep, or the soft scent of flowers first blooming early Spring-her mother's perfume.

She takes a sharp turn left and like the child so long ago, leaves it all behind. The light from her father's room is no longer visible as she reaches the foot of the staircase and begins her ascent.

The corridor in front of her now dark again. There's no light-there hasn't been now for a month-from her brother's room.

Santana turns the doorknob to her room half expecting to find tattletale signs of her mother's presence and her room spotless, curtains drawn, inviting the last of the dying light from outside into her room; but she doesn't, and her room is still in the messy state she left it in this morning. She sighs, but she cannot discern whether it is out of relief or disappointment that her mother hasn't been in here.

She attaches the charging cord to her phone, dumps her bag right beside the door, and strips off her Cheerios uniform sluggishly like someone getting out of one of those oversized mascot costumes they have at the Titan's games. It's awkward and time consuming, despite there being only one zipper and Santana realises that she must be  _tired_ because, it's taking forever and all she wants to do is to rip the polyester away from her body.

Santana stumbles blindly to the edge of her bed and drags her weary body onto it, the mattress dipping under her weight. She burrows deep into the sheets, twisting and turning, drawing them up and over her head until she is so sure that the world outside has disappeared and her presence neither needed nor remembered. It's the last thought on her mind as she draws away from the port of consciousness and drifts off, hidden amidst the endless sea of cotton, and into sleep.

It's half past twelve when her phone lights up.

_We need 2 talk. -Britt Britt_

/

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi guys again! :) this update is faster than I expected, probably because of all your support/reviews so I have to say thank you, for reviewing, sending me messages or just by reading.
> 
> I didn't have a beta look through this chapter (she was busy:)), so all mistakes are mine. If you find any typos etc, just pm me or leave a review and I'll fix ASAP. Might tweak this chapter when she gets round to editing :)
> 
> I'm afraid the next updates may be in a while, I'm going to be interstate for a little while, so busy times... (but I might update one of my other fics in the meanwhile)
> 
> and disclaimer (just in case): I don't own Glee or any songs mentioned.
> 
> (oh, and for the record, the address is made up, so I don't know if it exists but hey let's pretend it does ;))


	3. Chapter III

**"** **She stood there until something fell off the shelf inside her."**

―Zora Neale Hurston, _Their Eyes Were Watching God_

****CHAPTER III** **

It's a clear sky above them, a cloudless expanse, a pure stretch of just blue for miles and miles on end. The sun is a splot of yellow, bleeding lines at its edges like a sharp splatter of paint on paper as she gazes at it from behind the protective barrier of her dark sunglasses.

Brittany is silent, uncharacteristically so. It's a silence reminiscent of the ones she shares with Quinn and Santana wonders if it was possible for this silence to be contagious, the way a laugh or a cough was.

This was not what she pictured when Brittany had said they needed to talk.

"Britt, how's the assignment going with Quinn?"

Santana rolls over, the warm sand shifting around her and underneath her towel, moving to once again fit the contours of her body as she lies on her side, elbow propping herself up to both look and face Brittany.

Brittany remains stagnant, gazing up at the sky, its colour now reflected in her eyes and the pensive look upon her face. The bare expanse of skin—her shoulders, the pale milky colour of her taut stomach, her thighs and long legs—lay there receptive to the warm kisses of the sun's rays; and to Santana's.

It's a small peck, but when Santana leans over and presses her lips lightly onto Brittany's shoulder—as light as the sun's rays and just as warm—it sends a sensation that ghosts down Brittany's spine, a shiver chasing after it.

Santana pauses when Brittany's breathing hitches, and waits.

"Good. It's good. Quinn's nice."

Brittany places a hand on Santana's shoulder and gently pushes her away from her shoulder, away from where the brunette's last kiss still lingers. Santana rolls onto her back.

"What are we doing San?"

It occurs to Santana that she doesn't really have a clear cut and definitive answer to this overtly simple question.

"We...we are...B, why now?" Santana sighs.

"Dating. Tana, we are dating right?" Brittany shifts the weight of her gaze onto the brunette, the crystal blue orbs shining so brightly, that Santana feels like she is staring into a burning star.

Santana can only half nod.

"Yeah, I guess...But this secret thing is temporary remember, B?"

"I can't wait forever though. Even Lord Tubbington is getting impatient. If you don't want me, you've got to let me go."

The waves come crawling; in and up onto the sand leaving behind white frothy foam, momentarily stranded and suspended before vanishing once again. The sound of waves washing ashore and sluicing away gives the air around them a constant heartbeat. Santana draws in a lungful of air, tasting upon her tongue the essence of the sea.

"I want you Britt. I love you."

"You keep saying that but yet you can't tell anyone else. We have to be a _secret_. I don't want us to be a secret."

"I thought we were okay with this? Okay with this until I am ready to tell my parents, ready to leave this shit hole town?"

"When exactly will that happen Tana?"

For the second time today, Santana finds herself speechless. The words get caught in her throat, refusing to form upon her tongue, she doesn't want to lie to Brittany (Brittany doesn't deserve it) and to feed her the usual—" _soon_."

But not this time.

Brittany is right.

"I don't know..." Santana admits softly, her face twists into a grimace and Brittany takes it with an almost imperceptible wince of her own.

Santana gathers up a handful of sand and watches as the golden grains trickle through the spaces between her fingers, cascading down to join the others, becoming once again, an extension of the beach. Santana watches them fall and sees in them a reminder of the limited time she has left within her grasp; time that would, like the grains of sand, eventually fuse together and take form as the vast expanse of eternity.

Brittany's gaze never leaves her. It's steady, waiting and Santana realises that is what Brittany—innocent and sweet Brittany—has been doing for the past two years—ever since their first tentative kiss, hidden under the guise of a game of truth or dare.

"I'm sorry Britt. I need a little more time."

The sand still trickles through her fingers.

"We can start small, with the Glee club? We're a family, look at Kurt and Blaine."

Santana wants to agree but she's afraid. She hasn't got it all figured out yet herself, she's not ready to face reality, to find out if sharing this secret would be worth the alienation and isolation she would no doubt find as her constant companions-to wake up and find the world turned against her; and what little love she has snatched away.

"That's because Kurt never slushied them or made any one of their lives a living hell for the formative years of their high school life, Brittany. Me on the other hand, they _hate_ me. Schue only allowed to stay because of _you_ and _maybe_ Quinn."

"That's not true Tana..."

"It is. I can't tell them anyway because Mercedes and Rachel are bound to gossip." Santana frowns at the idea, already imagining the disastrous outcome.

"Can we at least tell Quinn?"

Santana freezes. She's torn between just saying yes on the basis of Quinn being the third member of their Unholy Trinity, (but then she recalls that Quinn herself had said that they _weren't_ friends and her heart hardens.)

Why should Santana give her the power to destroy her life? Why should Quinn get the privilege to know?

"No. Quinn doesn't get to know. No one does, not yet." Santana states firmly, her voice clipped.

Brittany drops the topic, rolls onto her back and the sun's warmth is no longer quite enough to keep the cold that slides into her heart at bay, like the sun's warmth had been robbed by clouds it had suddenly retreated behind, (though there were none in sight).

Brittany slides on her sunglasses.

The dark shades hide the disappointment clouding the blue eyes but Santana doesn't need to meet Brittany's eyes to know its there. She can feel it through the clenched nature of Brittany's fist and see it reflected in the deflated slouch of her shoulders, a stark contrast to her usually bubbly demeanor and Santana feels the touch of guilt settling in her stomach.

It's enough to send what was left of Santana's resolve teetering over the edge and she finds herself uttering the words she had adamantly promised that she wouldn't. Not to Brittany. Not again.

"It'll besoonthough, Britt."

If Brittany hears her, she doesn't give any indication that she does; she doesn't even acknowledge the words, (or rather, the lie). Brittany just stands up, and tiptoes to the waters edge leaving Santana behind with her thoughts and ever present, the sound of the waves.

/

Santana deliberately arrives late and pulls up at the Hudson-Hummel residence at around 4:35pm. She sees Kurt peek out the window and it looks like he has been waiting awhile for her.

When he gives her a tour of the house, pointing out the bathroom, the kitchen and his bedroom, she realises Kurt's house looks like it has come straight out of an interior design magazine and Santana is silent awe. He sure knows how to make things work and look good together.

Burt, Kurt's father, interrupts their tour to welcome her and she's finds that she likes his down to earth manner, his solid and dependable nature, and his genuine love towards his son (if only her own father was anything like Burt; a part of her laments).

Burt excuses himself with an adjusting of his baseball cap, before scratching the back of his neck and offering them a gruff word of goodbye. She manages a half mumble in return, and he takes it with a nod of his head.

Santana follows Kurt to his bedroom, and she's kind of glad now, in retrospect, that he is her partner. At least she doesn't hate his guts and she knows he won't even want to try anything inappropriate.

He stops in the middle of his room, awkwardly, and she can see the tension in his shoulders, his posture stiff; almost like he is the one who is a stranger in this house.

"Right, so how are we going about this?" He asks.

Santana strides over and situates herself carefully on top of Kurt's patterned bedspread, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.

"I don't mind. I guess we could start by listening to the song a couple of times and then split the lines, experiment with the lines and such."

Kurt nods and darts over, hooking his phone into the speakers and scrolls through his songs.

The opening chords float through the air and Santana closes her eyes, letting the music fill her from inside out; the world falling away. She forgets that she is with Kurt, in Kurt's house. All she does is focus solely on the different combinations of harmonies and melodies flowing through her mind, giving each one equal and careful consideration.

/

 _T_ hey have made nice progress, she thinks. The song was now split equally between them and the lines of harmony were all laid in front of them, half scribbled messily on pieces of paper, fanned out in front of them like a deck of cards.

And somehow Santana finds that she has ended up staying longer than she originally intended.

Santana can't help but notice the evidence of Kurt and Blaine's happiness sprinkled throughout the bedroom. There's a photo frame of the two of them set on Kurt's desk, there's a bottle of hair gel that Santana knows Kurt doesn't use and she is sure that there's a couple of Blaine's bowties lying in one of the drawers somewhere.

But she knows this didn't come without a price. Santana remembers Kurt's freshman year, the way students avoided him, almost if he would stain them the way the alien green of slushies did to his clothes. She remembers the way he stood out, and not in a good way; the constant bullying that had followed him, all the way home.

This was back when she contemplated fucking guys, before she did _it_ with Puck; hoping that she would get that spark, and finally be let in on the secret every other girl seemed to be in on. Back when she still held onto the idea that she was like _them_.

Straight.

She wants to ask him if he ever regrets it. Changing his life forever in one breath, letting the words fall free from where he must have tied them up, out of sight. If it really is worth the tribulations that he was put through. But when she opens her mouth, the words don't quite make it and she ends up saying something that doesn't quite touch on what she originally planned to ask.

"...how are you and Blaine?"

Kurt's eyes light up, and a small smile makes its way onto his face. Kurt must have mistaken the question for an attempt at small talk, at bridging the gap between them. It seems to make him open up, the tension leaving his body, when he realises that she means no real harm in his house and is without the prickly exterior she usually dons as armour.

Santana doesn't let him know otherwise and finds that she doesn't mind his assumptions, turning her head to look him in the eyes and waits patiently for him to continue, to fill the room with his stories about Blaine, himself and their (mis)adventures. For Santana, it's nice to hear that not everyone has a heavy weight stacked upon their shoulders and that this lightness still exists out there in the world.

Somewhere along the conversation somehow takes a turn, and they end up each pensively contemplating the future and their place in it.

In a moment of lucidity, when she blocks out the gloomy outlook of the present, and sees past the bleak plains in her mind where her doubts and fears manifest as thick fog, hovering just above the ground,Santana just let's herself imagine. She sees the possibilities for Brittany and herself, sees the both of them somewhere far away, this insignificant close-minded town of Lima, a small speck in their rearview mirror. Santana sees herself and Brittany on laundry day, with the rumbling of the washing machine behind them, clothes-their clothes-tumbling around together. They share a quick kiss and the image is so vivid, so domestic, but what is surprising is that she likes the idea. She thinks she knows where Brittany is coming from now, that the the lightness was still out there for her to take by her own hands; within her grasps and she just needed to take a step forward, trusting that she was not already standing at the edge of a cliff to begin with.

"I can't wait to get out of this place. I am thinking of New York, Blaine and I, we could go on proper dates-to watch Broadway Shows." Kurt grins, his mind a million miles away into the future.

"Could you and Warbler get anymore cliched?" Santana jests.

"Trust me, some Broadway Productions are to die for...ahem, anyway, what about you? Planning to leave this place as well?"

"Definitely." It was too hard at the time to imagine a future in which she did not escape this town. She refused to consider it.

"You should. You're so much greater than Lima Santana. Sometimes I think it's this town that traps you, clipping your wings you know?"

"There's nothing left for me here." She says simply.

It's quiet for a heartbeat.

"Except Brittany." Kurt breathes.

Santana freezes.

"What?"

"You'd follow her everywhere wouldn't you."

He says it more like a statement than a question.

Santana pauses. She has imagined and planned a thousand different ways to escape from Lima, but there's one fundamental element in them all-they all involve, if not, revolve around Brittany.

"Because for Blaine I'd do the same..."

Santana tenses.

Kurt eyes her, a look of regret already clouding his eyes. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure as to whether or not he has overstepped the line and ruined what fragile thing have built together; looking at her the way sandcastles stand, uncertain, in the face of the rising tide.

There must be something about this house because suddenly Santana's mind is acknowledging the fact that he _knows_ or at leasts suspects, and yet, he frankly doesn't care, and this making her question why she was even so anxious for. It was evident that he would be the last one in the world who would think to condemn her. This thought is a minor comfort, but nevertheless, is still a comfort all the same.

Kurt hesitates, and Santana can see him thinking out and carefully formulating his next words. She waits. After a moment, in a small voice-almost too quiet for Santana to hear-Kurt offers her them tentatively.

"Santana, you know that I'm always here...to talk...if you want."

The double meaning behind his words and the gravity of the offer hovers between them, Kurt's careful wording ensuring that she would get the real message behind it all. And it's in Kurt's voice that she hears the slight tremors, and she notices the glistening of his eyeballs and realises that maybe Brittany was right about glee club being a family.

Santana nods and gives him a tight lipped smile.

The boys in the photo frame beam back.

/

Quinn and Brittany's performance is almost too painful to watch.

_"I need another story, something to get off my chest."_

It's the way that they deliver the lines, Brittany's voice rings loud and clear, full of unrestrained emotion. Her blue eyes, deep like the ocean and just as beautiful lock onto Santana's and the lyrics, a plea, a open letter to the herself.

The song is no doubt an allusion to their situation. Brittany knows. She knows.

_"Til my sleeves are stained red, from all the truth I said."_

Santana looks away uncomfortably, her arms move on their own accord, folding across her chest; a physical barrier between the strong tide threatening to wash her away. Santana shifts in her chair, although she can feel the full force of it on her, she avoids Brittany's gaze for the rest of the performance. Despite this, she can still feel the tingling as it sweeps across her skin; searching her face. She doesn't know how much she can take without having to leave the room.

Santana instead busies herself by looking around and taking in the rapt expressions of the others around the room, noting that it wasn't just herself that was being profoundly affected. There was personal investment of the raw, emotional kind in this performance and Sue sits in the back corner, her usually furiously scribbling pen in hand, silent and still. Coach has her eyes narrowed, entire attention fixed upon the two girls, listening.

It was clear that Quinn and Brittany's performance was good, really really good; good enough to capture Coach Sylvester's full attention, an impressive feat. (Santana counts herself lucky if she recieves any acknowledgement, including criticism, on any given day.)

_"I'm going to give all my secrets away."_

If Santana found Brittany painful to watch, Quinn was heartbreaking.

_"I'm going to give all my secrets away."_

Santana manages to catch Quinn's eyes in the final lines of the song, and if Santana didn't know any better she would be saying that Quinn was avoiding her. Considering Quinn's unpredictability, she is not surprised, however, what she is startled by is the softness in the blonde's eyes. Everything else in the Fabray mask is still intact though, and Santana wonders if she had just conjured it up in her imagination. No, they _are_ different, they carry the quality of an immense sadness, eyes that silently call for help. Quinn links arms with Brittany, offering the taller blonde a small smile before swaying in time with the music and continuing to echo the final line softly.

And then it's all over and Quinn seems to be blinking away unshed tears.

After the final note rings loud and clear, Sue gets up wordlessly and dismisses them with a wave of her hand. The other members of the glee club sit frozen for a moment, still caught in a spell; a quiet mumble begins to grow and Santana thinks she sees a puzzled look on Rachel's face; her eyebrows drawn neatly together, head tilted thoughtfully.

The second thing Santana notes is that there is nothing written on the piece of card in Sue Sylvester's hand.

Coach suddenly seems to be trying to shoo the rest of them out of the choir room as fast as she can.

"Quinn. My office in 5." Sue states.

"Okay Coach."

Santana lingers behind; partly because she is waiting for Brittany and partly for some other reason that she can't quite pinpoint. _To congratulate Quinn?_

"Did you like my performance?" Brittany half whispers to the brunette. She's close enough to Santana that her warm breath lands on the Latina's face, stirring a few strands of hair.

_It was for you..._

The unspoken statement floats to Santana's ears but Santana doesn't fully register it. Instead, she is distracted by feelings of growing unease that fester in the room. Sue's odd behaviour only seems to confirm this.

"Yes Britt-Britt. I thought it was great, you and Quinn did an awesome job."

A flash of blue-bluer than the taller blonde's eyes-from behind Brittany catches Santana's eye and she finds her attention drawn away from Brittany and onto Quinn's exiting form, steps coloured with a quality that Santana hasn't seen since the days of Lucy Q; a wavering uncertainty.

Quinn hesitates at the door slightly, half turning to face them.

Santana is about to open her mouth and compliment the blonde on her performance when she hears Sue's muffled voice from further down the corridor and Quinn stops mid-turn; whatever facade the performance had stripped her of is instantly rebuilt and Santana watches Quinn smooth out the creases in her dress the way she so often smooths out the creases on her face. The moment, her chance is gone and Santana lets the words slide back down her throat to be corroded away by the acid in her stomach. The condescending confidence is back into Quinn's posture, and in her movements. Despite this, all Santana can remember-can see-is the cobalt blue of the dress that Quinn is wearing. It sears itself into the back of her eyelids, the significance of which, Santana has yet to decipher.

There is also something else though, and Quinn's body language is a dead give away.

She wonders if Sue sees this too.

Something was wrong.

She gently pushes past a confused looking Brittany, Santana's eyes narrowed and set with a glint of determination in them; in her haste, her mouth only manages to get out a quick _see you later_ to the tall blonde.

The choir room doors are open wide.

Quinn is already half-way down the corridor.

Santana runs to catch up to the blonde, the rhythm of her footsteps-a beat-as fast as the thoughts racing through her mind. In the empty hallway, a few metres before Coach's office, she skids to a stop in front of the the other girl, halting Quinn's advance. Santana's voice echoes around the walls of the empty hallways as she speaks.

"Okay. What the fuck is going on, Fabray."

Quinn as always, looks at her with an expression of scorn mixed with condescension; the antagonistic glint burning bright in the hazel of her ever-changing coloured eyes. It's a look that says piss off, Santana.

Santana doesn't budge.

Quinn clicks her tongue, and her eyebrow quirks. When it is evident that Santana isn't going to be moving any time soon, Quinn clears her throat in annoyance, nose scrunched up and lip curled, proceeding to push past the Latina-none too gently either-and Santana finds herself firmly shoved aside.

Before Santana can stop herself, her hand shoots out and ensnares Quinn's wrist, preventing the blonde from continuing towards Sylvester's office, instead, tugging her forcefully into an empty classroom. All the while, Quinn's feet dig into the polished hallway floors, the soles of her shoes gripping on, resisting Santana's efforts.

The clicking of the door behind them leaves them trapped in silence. Santana suddenly feels as though she was the one getting cornered and locked in, alone with her frenemy with no way out, and not Quinn. The space was too small for the problems between them and this seemed to bring the walls and ceiling closer; oppressively so, like a cage. Despite this, Santana continues.

"Talk. Spit it out Quinn."

Santana half leans, half sits onto the desks in the classroom, suddenly aware that her fingers are still half curled, settled around Quinn's wrist.

"No."

Quinn seems to remember this too and proceeds to rip her wrist away from Santana's grasp. Santana's skin stings where Quinn's was in contact with hers a second ago and she can't help but wince; the feeling reminds her of a bandaid being ripped off; quick, and painful and exposing the wound they had kept bandaged.

"Don't. Play. Dumb. Fabray."

"Lopez, I fail to see how this is your business." Quinn replies coolly, her expression although neutral, doesn't fool Santana one bit.

"I think you're finally going insane, are you hanging around Berry too much huh? First, you roam the streets alone after dark, like it's no big deal AND for god knows what reason. Now you've used a Glee Sue Sylvester assignment as a form of cathartic release, I mean forfucksakes. What is going on with you Quinn...?"

There's a charged silence which neither of them is willing to break. Santana holds her ground.

Quinn falters.

"I...I got kicked out." The other girl blurts, her mask shattering and Santana is left to deal with the mess of emotion that colours the face of Quinn Fabray. Broken fragments lay beneath the rubble, and Santana sees how disjointed everything has become and she feels like she is looking into a cracked mirror; its glass shattered, distorting what she would normally recognise without trouble. The shards of shrapnel glass seem to dig into her chest and Santana wants to look away, but find that she can't.

"What? Off Cheerios? That doesn't...what?"

Santana frowns. _What?_ Why would the blonde be so desperate to remain on the team? She had made it clear on several occasions that she resents working with Santana, whether it was during routines and/or their practice sessions. The broken look on the other's face just doesn't...

Quinn clenches her jaw, the skin tightening over her tensed jaw muscles seemingly resisting the urge to grind her teeth together.

"No, Santana! I. Got. Thrown. Out. By. My. Mother." _U_ nderneath the bitterness and bite of Quinn's voice, a strange and tone colours it.

Santana's lips part, her jaw dropping slowly and her eyes widen. Her mouth hangs open like she had just been slapped hard across her face—the stinging of the palm, the sudden pain and throbbing left its wake—all still lingering on her face; an invisible but angry mark.

Quinn's response is the last thing she would have expected.

"I've been living with my grandmother, but it's not like I would go back to the place...There Santana, is your little burst of nosy curious satisfied?" Quinn states bitterly, the words sharp-edged like flint.

"Quinn..." Santana swallows a lump in her throat as the weight of Quinn's words hit her in the chest like a swinging axe. "...Why didn't you say anything?"

"And what?"

"Stayed with me."

"Yeah, sure." Quinn sneers sarcastically, face twisting in an expression that matched her tone. "I wasn't aware that would have _been_ an option."

"Well it is an option now!" Santana find herself yelling out.

The glare Quinn sends her way slices at her heart, leaving a gash deep and painful enough to be felt.

"Don't you _dare_ get involved Santana!" Quinn seethes, on the verge of shouting. Santana can see her fist clenched tight, the skin over her knuckles pulled taut and white.

"I don't want your help nor your pity."

Santana opens her mouth to object but Quinn cuts her off.

"Since when have you ever _cared_ about anyone other than yourself of Brittany? Since when did you become the poster girl for "a Knight-in Shining-Armor"? Leave me alone, Santana."

Quinn flings the door open and storms out leaving Santana dazed and wondering what the hell just happened.

/

_I wasn't aware that would have been an option?_

_When did you start caring?_

The conversation continuously runs through Santana's mind, Quinn's words echoing loudly, and the truth of her words ring louder than a police siren, filling Santana with guilt with every progressive repetition.

_Leave me alone, Santana._

That was exactly what had done with Quinn, left her alone, just as she had asked for two years ago. ( _Give me some space_ she had said after Santana had confronted her about her distant nature.)

Look where that had got them.

Unable to sit back any longer, Santana picks up her phone, hoping to break through their self-imposed barrier of silence, perhaps to make something right; and it's hope that drives her to attempt to contact Quinn—through Facebook, through text message and even calling the number that had not been dialled in too long. It's a concoction of hope, mixed with nostalgic memories of their past that Santana clings onto and allows herself to be swallowed down by; embraced by its nature, all curves and soft around the edges.

But for all of her efforts, its complete radio silence from the other party.

Santana knows that Quinn would never openly seek advice or comfort, it wasn't the way Fabray worked. They were similiar in many ways; they both usually got what they wanted and needed through manipulation, seduction; a harsh nature, leaving people behind, in a trail of their havoc and destruction.

Her call goes through to voicemail for the umpteenth time.

Quinn would probably pick up her phone if Britt was calling, after all they had been partners for the assignment.

Santana sighs; scrolling to the B section of her contacts. Her hand hovers, just a fraction of an inch over Brittany's name. Brittany was always better at this, people thing, than she ever was...and ever will be as it looks.

_**/** _

**AN: cannot make any promises about this story because it has been a long time since i first started it and a lot has changed in terms of the direction where i want this story to go (and i may have forgotten where the plot was to originally lead :/). What i can promise is to post the chapters that i have** **written (they are sort of drafts really, so apologies for any mistakes).**

**also the formatting seems to have gone a bit weird in places...**

**anyway, thanks for your patience, take care and enjoy reading. x**


	4. CHAPTER IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: eh wtf...honestly it has been way too long...i found this chapter today when i was looking through my old files...i might have chapter 5 (or at least half of it somewhere too)
> 
> excuse all formatting/mistakes, haven't revisited this story in forever. I will post chapter 5 if i do find the file, but tbh don't think i will end up finishing this story considering its been like 2-3 (?) years and my planning document was lost.. sigh i did really like writing this story though
> 
> thank you guys for reading anyway! enjoy i guess :)

**"That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt."**

 

—John Green,  _The Fault in Our Stars._

 

**CHAPTER IV**

 

When her phone goes off the first time in months, it surprises her. The dull silence, the soft sighing of the house abruptly disturbed by her long forgotten ringtone; it's a sound now so foreign to her ears that for a long second she cannot place its origin. 

 

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, the leather of her chair cold against her back. The dull ache in her fingers and the faint smudge marks of blue ink remind her of exactly how long she'd been sitting at the desk, concentration thrown into deciphering the passage they'd been assigned to do for homework. She had desperately wanted to forget that particular conversation, pretend that it never happened but now it's echoing throughout her room, entwined intimately with the rise and fall of her ringtone.

 

The melody crescendos for a brief moment before cutting off like an anguished creature dying mid-howl. It returns the house to the cold embrace of silence. Quinn's eyes flicker to her pen resting so still against the bright white of her paper. She's compelled to pick it up again and forget this interruption ever occurred.

 

But it happens again. 

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

Santana with her tongue poking out cheekily--a captured moment of their youth--flashes across the screen accompanying the caller id that read "Bitch". The picture tugs at Quinn's heartstrings. Her mind and the swirling of memories transports to Freshman year, to when Santana would steal her phone for the sole reason of taking selfies. 

 

Back when they were still friends. 

 

Back when it was all so simple, and when " _I'm sorry._ " was enough to warrant forgiveness.

 

A lump forms in her throat.

 

Quinn shakily exhales a breath, and she forces herself to tune out the incessant interruption from her phone ignoring the twinges of pain radiating from her heart, and most of all Santana's playful expression right there on her screen.

 

After the tenth time, Santana doesn't call again. 

 

But Brittany does, and Quinn is again hit the indescribable feeling that often accompanies her thoughts of the other girl. It's a quiet tugging at the back of mind, and feels like the invisible tussling of thoughts, and Quinn decides she doesn't want to know what it actually means. All the same, Quinn finds that she can't just ignore Brittany's incoming call, not like she has done with Santana's. Her finger moves automatically to press the green button.

 

"...Brittany?"

 

"Hi Quinn!! You're not answering Sanny's calls." 

 

Brittany gets straight to the point and Quinn can almost picture the pouting expression adorning the other girl's face; her tone, a smooth blend of sadness, disappointment and curiosity, and one that stirs a vague sense of guilt in Quinn. A blanket of heaviness settles around her shoulders, bringing with it a gnawing in her chest; an insistent reminder. 

 

She shouldn't feel like this, she has no reason to, but somehow Brittany always knows exactly what to say; knows how to catch her off guard. But then again it's Brittany, the bubbly and innocent blonde who manages to charm and garner the affections of everyone she meets, who is adept at evoking unfathomable reactions from the most unexpected people.

 

Quinn sighs, she shouldn't have underestimated Santana's sudden stubbornness to initiate some form of communication with her. Communication. When coupled with "Santana", the concept feels distant and alien-like as it weaves in and out of her thoughts.

 

"We had a...disagreement, I don't want to talk to her Brittany."

 

"What about the Unholy Trinity? Start together, finish together. I miss you Quinn. I miss our Lord Tubbington investigations and sleepover happy times." Brittany's voice trails off softly, almost as if gently cradling the fragile nature of her musings, a reflection of the reminiscent characteristic in Quinn's own thoughts when she'd first seen Santana's contact picture flashing across her screen demanding attention.

 

"I...we can't. Santana...we..."

 

"I thought you two were trying..." She says almost accusingly.

 

Were they though? Was Santana actually trying to mend something that might as well have had been broken the day they had begun? Did she genuinely care? _Unlikely._

 

"I don't know if Santana and I can...ever go back to...being friends..."

 

"Santana may not know it but she needs you Quinn,  _we_  need you..."

 

"You guys have been fine without me..." The words come out all sharp angles and bitter consonants. 

 

There's an extended silence before Quinn hears soft sniffles coming from the other end.

 

"Brittany...I-"

 

"I'm dating Santana."

 

"What?!" 

 

The confession, although isn't surprising, is so abrupt and unexpected in their current conversation that it leaves Quinn stunned and without the appropriate words to respond.

 

"She's so scared of telling people, even you or the Glee Club... I can't..I don't want to hide anymore...you're my... _our_  closest friend..." Brittany continues, voice again soft, spilling out the precious secret she just couldn't keep in anymore.

 

Quinn remains silent; her mind races so fast that her head spins leaving her trying to catch up, her thoughts crash and collide against each other, loaded with implications, each as confusing as the next, an endless whirl of chaos.

 

"Quinn...? Will you come over Saturday at 7pm? For old times sake?"

 

It sounds like Brittany's asking a question, but Quinn knows it's just a desperate request, one she almost has no choice but to comply with...for old times sake.

 

/

 

It was a bad idea.

 

The house stares back at her with its softly sloping roof, many windowsills and pale blue exterior faded with time, welcoming, like it had been all those years ago. Nostalgia floods her senses and she takes a small step back in time and is met with a naïve energy that cuts loose her lingering apprehension. It’s the reason why Quinn finally rings the doorbell, why she lets herself return the warm hug Ms Pierce engulfs her in when she answers the door.

 

But appearances can be deceptive, nostalgia, a feeling of what once was; a mere illusion in the face of the present.

 

As soon as she enters the Brittany’s room Quinn’s forced to acknowledge the self-deception as the fuming dark eyes of Santana Lopez rips through the fabric of her illusion, tearing it at the seams. In an instant it falls apart, like a tent collapsing upon itself.

 

"Quinn! You came!" Brittany bounces towards her and engulfs her in a hug, blue eyes beaming and smile bright as the midday sun. She is seemingly the only one in the room who believes something positive can come out of this reunion.

 

Despite this warm welcome from Brittany, Santana seems to take her appearance as an intrusion, a personal affront and Quinn can feel the waves of animosity radiating from the Latina.

 

So nothing had changed between them then. 

 

She shifts uncomfortably, fake smile plastered on her face like freshly pasted wallpaper that had yet to completely dry.

 

"We need to _talk,_ but not _now_...so what the fuck are you even doing here  _Fabray_?" Santana almost snarls the words, her voice low and menacing, slicing through the previously light atmosphere created by Brittany. The ominous warning of storm clouds had settled in Santana’s dark eyes, her body rigid, fist clenched and humming with a volatile energy.

 

"I invited her over." Brittany states matter of factly. The brunette’s face contorts in confusion, her eyebrows scrunch up and head tilts questioningly towards the taller of the two blondes. The action is strangely out of character and Quinn finds herself thinking that she would have liked to have been privy to this softer version of Santana.

 

"Wait, why?"

  
Brittany sends Santana a look of desperation and Quinn watches as Santana pieces the puzzle together. Quinn’s random appearance, Brittany’s soft desperation and lack of warning… When she does, the icy flood of realisation crashes over her, and Santana freezes almost as if tendrils of panic had wrapped around her, binding her tightly in place.

  
Almost instantly the atmosphere changes, Quinn knows she should just leave now but as she made her way to the door, strides matching the quickening of her heartbeat, Brittany stops her. Stops her and changes everything.

 

"Wait! Quinn-"

  
"You told her." 

 

Finally free from the clutches of her initial panic, Santana cuts in, a hint of betrayal mixed amongst the concoction of emotions encapsulated in her words. Santana eyes meet Quinn's and for a moment the blonde glimpses a reflection of the other girl's chaotic emotions. Quinn's heart jerks against the chains she'd placed on it all those years ago when she had reinvented herself to become the Ice Queen; pulling with a yearning and desperate desire for reconciliation. She watches as the brunette's eyelids flutter close, shoulders rising and falling, breath by breath expelling any semblance of vulnerability. Santana's face hardens, furrows etching themselves into her forehead and her walls built up with cold efficiency.

 

"I...Santana, I knew. Before she told me." Quinn states softly, wanting to say so much more, but stops herself, remembering their tense and heated exchange in Santana's car.

 

"Santana...It's only Quinn...and you promised me  _soon_. This is enough for me, I need to see you try, I can't...I can't wait much longer..." Brittany almost begs, her voice trembling like a blade of grass in the wake of a breeze.

  
The room fills with deafening silence.

  
"I can and will destroy you if you speak of this to anyone, Fabray. I swear I'll go Lima Heights on your ass, and I'll make your life a living hell. You don’t have the right to say anything, _compendre_?"

  
"What the hell is your _problem_ Santana!" Quinn spits back, unable to just stand there and do nothing.

  
"My problem is  _you_. We all know what you're capable of, all you fucking do is destroy and hurt people-."

  
"And you don't?!" Quinn cuts her off viciously.

  
A lump forms in Quinn's throat at the thought of their messed up friendship, but she refuses dwell on this and her hazel eyes flicker to Brittany's defeated form, shoulders slouched, and blue eyes already glistening.

  
"Are you even hearing what you are saying Lopez? Or are you too delusional…or maybe you’re in denial?"

  
Santana's eyes furiously meet hers at the accusation; anger dances dangerously within but Quinn doesn't back down. A visceral feeling of defiance stirs deep within her stomach, she clenches her jaw instinctively and stares back, daring Santana to lash out, to prove her accusations wrong. 

  
Santana doesn't take the bait.

 

The air remains charged between them as their eyes remain locked in a silent struggle but unlike their previous confrontation in the all too small classroom, Quinn’s in control of this one. Everything she has said has been the truth, even if it had meant inflicting pain or causing hurt to all the occupants of the room. 

 

"Just leave Quinn." The Latina states after what feels like an eternity. Her tone is now devoid of its characteristic bite, her shoulders slumped and eyes dead; a reflection of the heavy burden of her long maintained facade of invulnerability. A struggle Quinn knows all too well herself. Day in, day out of others constantly chipping away at your walls, day after day of picking up the broken pieces within.

 

“No.”

 

“What is it now Quinn?”

 

“I won't out you. I’m here, for Brittany…and for yo-”

 

“ _Since_ _when do you care_?” Santana snipes back instantly, and Quinn’s own words are thrown right back at her face. She almost stumbles back like she’s been physically hit. The words stings more than she’ll admit, and rips through her chest, all jagged and blunt, messily reopening old wounds. 

 

“Fine then Santana.” Her tone is clipped, and her lips pull into a thin line.

 

Quinn spins around with finality and strides towards the front door with anger, frustration and pain punctuated in every forceful step.

 

No one stops her this time and she clears the threshold from their little world of betrayal, heartache and broken friendships and into the outside world.

 

/

 

The room is quiet save for the incessant chatter of the television that Santana knows neither of them are really paying attention to. She knows it through the way Brittany’s body is tense to the touch, the nonstop fidgeting and the way her blue eyes are unfocused, staring at the television but seeing something else; somewhere faraway. The day’s events unfurl in her mind, and at the thought of someone else _knowing_ , Santana’s heart still drops to her stomach, lurching to a sickening halt that makes her nauseous.

 

_Quinn._

 

Of all people, it had to be her. Quinn Fabray’s presence just would not stop haunting her. In the dim evening light, she looks over at the one person she loves more than anything. The soft light of the television bounces across Brittany’s profile, mapping out its familiar topography, creating dark lines of dancing wrinkles that complement the haggard dark shadows of weariness. The emotional toll the day was making itself visible.

 

“Britt, we need to talk.”

 

Brittany turns to face her slowly, usually clear blue eyes distant and clouded with guilt and shame.

 

Santana inhales sharply, a bitter taste at the back of her throat lingers, the aftertaste of a poison she had willingly swallowed, albeit unsuspectingly. There's a stabbing pain to her heart that doesn’t go away and with each jolt of pain, the word  _betrayal_ radiates outwards, repeated over and over and over like a mantra. Santana doesn’t want to hear it, but it’s still there. 

 

The look in Brittany’s eyes do nothing to assuage the pain.

 

Brittany seems to know of its presence, like she can physically hear the chanting words vibrating inside her.

 

“I’m sorry, I betrayed your trust.”

 

_Betrayal._   _Betrayal._   _Betrayal_.

Santana mentally screams for the mantra to stop, and to just leave her with the calm feeling of forgiveness, a dull ache in its wake.

 

It doesn’t stop.

 

“And I’m sorry, Brittany, that I can’t trust your judgement of people. Quinn…She’s…unpredictable.”

 

“Like you.” Brittany pauses, waiting for a reaction. “You two are similar in so many ways…I just don’t understand what happened.”

 

_You happened. She abandoned me._

 

Santana mentally recoils, desperately flinging the thought into the deep recesses of her mind with a feverish urgency. She buries it in a place so dark, a place full of cobwebs, full of dangerous thoughts and broken skeletons.

 

High school happened, social status and reputation happened...Just shit happened is what she says to Brittany instead. The words come out robotically, a programmed answer for the very same question she had asked herself many times when she had allowed herself to forget it was a taboo question.

Brittany accepts the explanation silently.

 

“I’m afraid.” Santana breathes out after a moment, it’s mixed with her quiet exhalation that Brittany thinks she's beginning to hear things that don't exist. Still, she turns her head around and regards the Latina with soft questioning eyes; cerulean pools and gentle ripples.

 

“I’m afraid of what Quinn might do—might say.”

 

“San…What if she doesn’t do anythin— ”

 

“She’s not exactly going to just keep quiet about it, why should she when she has so much to gain from it?”

"You'll have to trust her word." Brittany says softly.

Santana’s not ready. Especially not for it to happen like this, where she has no say in who knows, not where it is completely out of her control and she has to trust the word of someone else. Worse yet, after today, she has no idea where Quinn and her stand.

 

_Now you know what she felt when you cornered her in that classroom…_

Wait what? Where did that come from...?

 

Although surprised, she acknowledges the thought. Santana tries to discern its origin, its meaning, but it slips out of her grasp, eluding her understanding. Instead the statement seeps into her bloodstream, dispersing its undeniable truth throughout her body with every heartbeat.

 

“Then we’ll get through this  _together_  then, like we always do.” Brittany delivers the words resolutely but they quiver in the dimly lit room; like their existence as fragile as the blonde’s belief in them; full of uncertainty, doubt and a need to convince oneself.

 

Santana's not sure if it'll be enough this time, the feeling of dread is ever present, a shadow lurking over her, following her every move; a foreshadowing. The worst part is that there's a horrible kink in their bond now, and Brittany feels it too. They might not recover from this. What was once forged with the strength of trust, is now marred by an ugly scar, as permanent and as mocking as the constant chanting of _Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal._

/

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> slow-ish development at the start of the fic, so bare with me :) I will get round to updating This Love Will Be Your Downfall eventually. Thanks for reading (feedback welcome). 
> 
> Trying to have updates at least once a month (would update more regularly but I'm a senior and school's shit busy).
> 
> Apologies for any dodgy formatting :) anyway, my thank you goes out to my beta LadyRaeXP [fanfiction.net] for putting up with my lengthy chapters etc.


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